


Meet Me in the Lamplight

by lilcrabcrab



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dancer Park Jisung (NCT), OC, POV Second Person, Short One Shot, or xReader, you choose how to interpret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 16:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilcrabcrab/pseuds/lilcrabcrab
Summary: A chance meeting with a performer called Jisung becomes a wild night out, falling in love too fast and too suddenly."Will I see you again?""I promise."





	Meet Me in the Lamplight

You were the blinding light on the stage, brighter than the spotlights that shone on you. You were an angel of power and dazzling beauty, untouchable in your perfection. You were the phenomenon, the fantastical, the stardust congealed into movement and flowing shifting eternity. 

Your eyes came to meet mine at the last of your poses and your hand came to mine not long after.

When the stage lights turned off, you were a different person. “I’m Jisung,” you had said, with a shy smile twitching at your lips and eyes shifting around in an endearing sort of nervousness. As if I didn’t know, from reading the programme. “Do you wanna go get a drink with me?”

You smiled wider at my nod, and returned after getting changed into a soft hoodie and sweats. Your show makeup stayed on - somehow, the contrast didn’t look weird on you. Uncertain, but decisive, your large fingers came to cover mine, and then grasp them easily.

“So, where are we going?” I asked. “There’s a pub down the street-”

“Actually I wasn’t thinking of that type of drink,” you said, and blushing, led me past the parties and the shouting. “Do you like tea?”

The store was a warmly lit oasis, just far enough away from the midnight craziness to feel quiet in a way that seemed like home. You ordered for both of us, under a different name. “If I don’t tell them I’m Jisung they usually don’t recognise me,” you said. It implied that if the name came out, they would.

“That sounds like the right amount of famous.” I thought it was a bit of a shame that I had never heard of you before tonight, but you assured me it was better that way. 

“I like to be as normal as possible,” you said, but the way you smiled as you handed me my cup was nothing if not special.

I learnt that you had been a dancer since you were a child, growing up only knowing yourself from your reflection in the backstage mirrors. The knowledge of how to dance was hammered into your bones since before you even knew how to read, and at 17 years of age it spills out every night, tumbling and overflowing into emotions you dance but cannot name. 

“You dance beautifully,” I would say, again and again that night, but it wasn’t true. You danced more than beautifully: you danced as if moonlight lived in your soul and it only knew how to shine through your performance. 

Apart from that, you’re a normal boy. Lanky limbs, awkward smiles, fingers drumming against the side of your cup. You asked for a sip of my drink, even though you said you had tried it before - I watched your lips close around the straw and couldn’t help but smile.

Off stage, you were the opposite type of mesmerising.

When the tea was finished, we walked out, hands clasped once again. The fairy lights on the front window of the store twinkled as we walked past. The lights didn’t glow for long, or reach out for very far, but they were pretty, nonetheless. I told you as much. You squeezed my hand, then my cheek, and told me I was prettier.

“Jisung, I like you,” I found myself saying, and it came out easier than it should have. 

“I like you too,” you replied, “ever since you first watched me dance.”

I took you to dance, after that, in the simple way I knew how: the casual dance floor of one of the smaller clubs in town. The music was loud, but not loud enough to be uncomfortable. I raised my voice to tell you “Let’s dance my way,” and dragged you in. 

There was something charming about the way you reacted - short head shakes and protests but the rest of your body already starting to move, one hand clutching onto my arm and the other eventually coming to rest around my waist. Your lips were close to my ear as you shouted that you had never danced casually like this before, and my hands were closer still to your face as I grasped it to tell you that it didn’t matter.

“Dance is in your blood,”

“Not like this!”

“Just hold me and you’ll know.”

You did know. It took two songs for you to start smiling widely, wildly, and two more for your hands to start guiding me as if you had always known the way that I move. We must have spent almost an hour like that, intertwined, dancing with no choreography or pattern or real grace; just two people feeling the music and learning to be part of each other. Imperfect. Gorgeous.

You said it was the exact opposite of performing. That you didn’t know whether you’d ever have had the courage to do it.

You said you liked it a lot. 

The streets outside the club were lit by warmly glowing lamp posts. It was past 2am, and you told me you had to go. The dancer’s life, you said, was a busy one - practices and performances and keeping the perfect health and body up. You said you hoped to see me again, nevertheless.

I hoped so too.

We stopped under one lamp post - the third one from the start of the street, I remember. You took my fingers into your hand one last time, and I found myself admiring the powerful yet delicate length of yours. Gently, you brought my hand up to your lips, brushing it with a feather-light kiss.

“Will I see you again?” I chanced to ask, and the question seemed to unsettle you, somehow.

“On stage, if you want.” A tilt of your head, and a pause. “And here. Under this light. Let’s meet again.”

“Promise?”

You were closer, all of a sudden. “I promise.”

Then you kissed me, soft lips pressed to mine for a few seconds that felt like forever. Even your kiss felt like a dancer’s: delicate but so incredibly strong. When I opened my eyes, you were pulling away already, back turned too soon and too fast. I watched you, saw your silhouette fade out of the yellow glow of the lamp posts.

“Goodbye,” I whispered, although I knew you would not hear it. 

And forever after that, you were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave comments and kudos!! <3 <3 <3


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